


Tea Service

by Magik3



Series: Katyana Future Middle-Age [10]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Actual facts about tea, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Oral Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19296178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3
Summary: Illyana teaches Kitty how to make tea in the Russian way ... and then some other things.Set a few years into Day of Future Middle Age when they're happily married and teaching together.





	1. The Samovar

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a series of scenes that center on Russian tea making but also have significant D/s undertones (well, some will be more than undertones, we hope). Thanks to my friends who brought this to mind (you know who you are). And apologies to any readers who want me to just finish something for once instead of starting new fics.

  
Illyana came down with the Pan-dimensional Stress Flu while helping America with a crisis in another dimension. A crisis that also involved Hellcat, bedbugs, a hundred foot tall sentient stick of beef jerky, and a 17,000-year-old teenager. All Illyana said on her return was, “They were doing it wrong.”  
  
She took cold medicine and went to bed for two days, so Kitty knew she felt miserable.  
  
Monday, early, she groaned, turned her head toward Kitty and asked, “Would you turn on my samovar for me, _pozhaluysta_?”  
  
The old samovar that sat on its own narrow table by the windows in Illyana’s office had once carried lit coals in its base. It gave off a comforting smoky odor—like a dad’s pipe tobacco after he’d let the room or a peat fire in an old Scottish Inn—but Kitty had never seen Illyana ignite it.  
  
“How?” she asked.  
  
Still face-down in the bed, Illyana said, “Press down the handle on the right side and ask it ‘ _zhara_ ,’ nicely.”  
  
“I hear you say that in the mornings sometimes. But here, in our rooms.”  
  
Illyana rolled over and levered herself half to sitting. She still looked more paper white than lightly tan, not her best look.  
  
She said, “It can hear me across the campus. It doesn’t know to listen for you.”  
  
Kitty got her second earring in and asked, “Do you want me to make your tea?”  
  
“Do you know how?”  
  
She hazarded a guess. “Put leaves in the pot and some water?”  
  
“No. Turn it on. I’ll come show you,” Illyana said and put the smaller pillow over her face.  
  
“You don’t have to. You should stay in bed.”  
  
“Give me a reason to get up.” The grumbled words made it through the pillow. “I have a meeting. I’ll come back to bed at noon.”  
  
“Teaching me to make tea is a good reason?” Kitty asked, more than dubious.  
  
“It’s the best reason.”  
  
She went across campus and phased through the outer wall into Illyana’s office. Whatever magical wards Illyana had up, they all recognized Kitty’s phasing and let her pass.  
  
Pressing down the right handle, she said, “ _Zhara_?” and waited until a light touch on the side of the metal tank confirmed it was warming. Then she headed to the teachers’ kitchen to find coffee. She was drinking that, sitting in the armchair in Illyana’s office, when Illyana walked in.  
  
“You don’t look so good,” Kitty said.  
  
“I sneezed demons on my way over and had to banish them. But the decongestant is kicking in. Come here and let me show you this.”  
  
Kitty got up, thinking Illyana would make the tea as a demonstration, but Illyana waited until Kitty was standing fully in front of the samovar and then moved behind her.  
  
“Take the tea pot  from the top and pour in a little bit of hot water, about half a cup. Swirl it around.”  
  
The bronze samovar was a large urn with two handles and a spout off the front. The urn sat on a round base, with even oval holes in it, for when it had held fire, with a single square foot under that. But instead of a simple lid, the top of the urn went two-thirds of the way to a peak and then widened out again for another round coal brazier. And on top of that sat a brass tea kettle—making the entire samovar nearly two feet high.  
  
The little kettle was only about three inches tall, easy to lift off the top and place under the spigot. Kitty turned the spigot’s ornate handle, shaped like an infinity sign, spilling water into the kettle.  
  
“A little much,” Illyana said lightly, teasing. “But that’s okay. I usually pour it out the window or, if it’s cold, into my planter here.”  
  
Kitty poured the water into the long planter that seemed filled with dirt and no plants, but she suspected the plants simply weren’t visible without magic. When she returned to the front of the samovar, Illyana stood closer behind her, fitting her body lightly to Kitty’s back. Her fingers strayed up the back of Kitty’s neck.  
  
“You are going to brew the _zavarka_. It’s very strong,” Illyana said. “One spoonful of tea for each cup I’ll drink. For long days, that might be six. Today, three. Then you pour in water to cover the leaves. Half an inch of water above the leaves if I’m tired. Three quarters if not.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
“Put it back on top to brew. At least six minutes. This is when I go to the kitchen for breakfast food.”  
  
They did.  
  
When they got back, Illyana said, “Now your pour some of the _zavarka_ into my mug. It’s morning so about one seventh of the mug. Fill the rest with hot water from the samovar.”  
  
She lifted the mug from her desk and brought it over to Kitty. Illyana drank her tea all day long from a lightweight stainless steel 16 oz mug coated in flat black. Everyone knew it was her mug—not only from the way the blackness of the mug seemed to absorb light, not only from the heavy tea staining inside from years of use—but also because the letters that had once spelled the manufacturer’s brand name now spelled a word in Russian. But, day to day, not the same Russian word.  
  
It had been a beautiful but normal mug when Kitty bought it for Illyana three years ago, but then Gaby saw it drying in the rack and had used it for hot chocolate.  
  
Illyana had teleported into the kitchen, saw her mug missing, found Gaby watching TV and simply said, “Put it on my desk when you’re done.” The next day it was a darker black and magically Russian. Nobody touched it.  
  
“What does it say?” Kitty asked as Illyana placed the mug in her hands.  
  
Illyana ran a finger along the characters: целуют. “Today it says _tseluyut_ , ‘kissed’ from the lines, ‘Tell me, how are you kissed? How do you kiss the others?’ It’s making a joke or two. At the end of the poem, the poet knows that—the one who asked her this question—she’ll deny him nothing.”  
  
“Oh.” Kitty felt too warm for the chill that ran up the back of her neck and across her scalp. She thought of all the times that mug had been on the bedside table while she and Illyana had sex and a wave of heat followed the chill. “Is it sentient? How much does it know?”  
  
Illyana’s hand settled on her shoulder. “ _Koschka_ , it’s only a projection of me and I am teasing you. It doesn’t have an independent will. Not like the samovar.”  
  
“The samovar …? How many things around here have you given independent will?”  
  
“None. She’s 160 years old. She developed it herself. Katya, meet Zhara.”  
  
“You call her name across the house in the mornings and she heats your tea for you? Should I be worried?”  
  
Illyana laughed. “The word жара also means ‘heat.’ Do you remember how to make my tea? Will you bring me my mug when it’s ready?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Illyana settled at her desk and Kitty carefully filled one seventh of the mug with the heavy, dark brown liquid from the tea pot and then filled the rest with hot water from the samovar’s spigot. All the small parts of this ritual felt soothing—no wonder Illyana did this every morning. Maybe this was part of her secret for keeping her temper.  
  
When Kitty set the mug on its saucer on Illyana’s desk, Illyana grinned up at her and said, “ _Bal’shoye spasiba, Koschka_.”  
  
It sounded like she was thanking Kitty for a lot more than a cup of tea and Kitty found herself walking away from the office thinking both that she’d like to make tea for Illyana again soon and she really hoped this Pan-dimensional Stress Flu didn’t linger; she had some more vigorous activities in mind.  
  
  



	2. Cold Press Coffee

But of course the end of the semester did not lend itself to vigorous extracurricular activities with Illyana. Days after the Pan-dimensional Stress Flu had gone, Kitty still couldn’t get out from under her piles of grading and paperwork, including some puzzling forms she’d swear the administration office had unsuccessfully copied from the Shi’ar Empire.  
  
Illyana teleported into Kitty’s office—a flash of blue-white beside her desk. Kitty almost protested that she had scads of work, simply piles upon piles, but Illyana set down a blue-purple travel mug and a white carryout bag.   
  
“I’m working late with Stephen,” she said, kissed the top of Kitty’s head and vanished.   
  
The mug held passionfruit-flavored cold press coffee with an extra shot of espresso in it. In the bag, Kitty found a trio of kebabs (chicken and two kinds of beef) with saffron-cardamon rice with garlic sauce, plus hummus and pita, a small green salad, and a protein bar for later. (Power Crunch Triple Chocolate, a favorite for which she made no apologies.)  
  
She didn't think she'd been in the mood for Middle Eastern food and didn’t often eat this much protein at dinner, but tonight she loved it. All of it: from the way the passionfruit and darkness of the coffee counterpointed the brightness of the rice and the tang of the garlic to the intense chocolate of the protein bar when she’d gone through everything else and most of the papers and it was nearly midnight.  
  
Illyana was deeply asleep when Kitty crawled into bed, but in the morning, Kitty asked her, “How did you know?”   
  
“Passionfruit makes you smile. And at lunch the day before, you were envying Hank’s kebabs.”  
  
“Am I supposed to do that with you? With your tea?” Kitty asked.  
  
“We’re different people. My tea should be always the same.”  
  
*  
  
The next week, for the first few days, Kitty managed to get into Illyana’s office first, turn on Zhara, the samovar, and brew the _zavarka_. She focused on always making it the same way, but she wanted to change something, so on Wednesday when she had the mug full of tea on its black, ceramic saucer, she didn’t put it on Illyana’s desk and leave, but stood next to the desk waiting, hoping she’d timed this right.   
  
It was hard enough to get up before Illyana got back from her morning run, and harder still to gauge the minutes that would elapse between the end of the run and her arrival in her office.   
  
Kitty looked around the office for a minute, worried that the tea would get cold, felt ridiculous, felt suddenly shy, and was staring at her shoes—wondering both if she needed a new pair and if she should just go—when Illyana walked in.   
  
She knew it was Illyana because, after the sound of the knob turning, the door sighing open, there came an fast, near-silent intake of breath: one of the few sounds Illyana made spontaneously when she was surprised in the best ways. Now Kitty couldn’t look up, her legs shaky for reasons she couldn’t have explained, she concentrated on staying still and waiting.   
  
She heard Illyana shut the door and set her bag by the far side of the desk, the charms on it jingling brightly. Then steps, even and soft, like a tiger, drawing closer to Kitty, walking around her.   
  
Illyana traced fingers down the front curve of her hip, the small of her back, the now-shivering and super-sensitive skin between her shoulderblades. She held one of Kitty’s earrings, fingertips brushing Kitty’s earlobe, as she examined it in the sunlight from the windows. Those rough, warm fingertips pulled a lock of hair free from Kitty’s ponytail and tucked it behind her ear, then traveled around the collar of her shirt making sure it was perfectly even.   
  
She didn’t say “beautiful” out loud, nor “mine,” but Kitty felt the words in her touch—and gave her response through her stillness, holding the saucer and mug in her upturned hands, bearing the weight that had grown from almost nothing to a significant strain the longer she stood.   
  
Illyana took the saucer and mug out of her hands and set them on her desk. She took Kitty’s hands in hers, lightly massaging out the stiffness that had settled into them.   
  
“You like this,” Illyana said.   
  
Kitty nodded, not sure how to find words to put to the feelings. She’s only been standing, holding tea, but it felt like so much had happened, was happening still.   
  
“Do you want more?”   
  
Kitty nodded again, but Illyana dropped her hands and tipped her chin up so Kitty had to look her in the eyes.   
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“I want to do this again and more,” Kitty said. “I don’t really know why.”   
  
Illyana grinnned. “Yes you do, you only don’t want to say it yet, but I’ll give you time. Tomorrow, come at one-thirty and wear something I’ll enjoy.”   
  
“I’ve got that conference call at two,” Kitty protested.   
  
“I know. I won’t make you late. But you’ll wish I had. Go, do your work.”   
  
Kitty walked out of Illyana’s office still dazed but happier than she’d been in at least a week and light-hearted. 


	3. Afternoon Tea

The question of Kitty could wear that Illyana would enjoy haunted Kitty all that day and into the evening. She couldn’t ask—not asking was part of the fun. At first she thought about her sheerest lingerie, her most suggestive bras. But what did Illyana enjoy most? When it came to Kitty, she seemed to truly enjoy Kitty’s pleasure, and teasing her, seeing her wide-eyed with need and wonder. What clothing evoked that?  
  
Kitty had an idea, but she had to discard it and return to it three times before she’d admit to herself that it was exactly what she wanted to wear.  
  
With the question of underwear settled, she decided on an emerald, loose A-line skirt with a good sway to it, so it would catch Illyana’s attention early in the day, and a light blue blouse. She added a loose choker with a thin line of beads that pointed down toward her cleavage.  
  
At 1:30 she walking into Illyana’s office.  
  
“Shut the door,” Illyana said without looking up.  
  
Kitty did. And waited. Illyana still didn’t look at her, absorbed in the paper on her desk.  
  
Right—afternoon tea. Kitty picked up Illyana’s mug and went to fill it. She’d forgotten the saucer, so she had to go back and get that. By now, Illyana was watching her, steadily, slight smile on her lips.  
  
Illyana waited until Kitty had set the saucer and mug on her desk and then said, “You should go get a second sushki.”  
  
Sushki were the hard sweetened bread rings that looked like mini-bagels. Kitty returned to the table with the samovar and put one on a napkin, bringing it back to the desk.  
  
“Now there’s only one napkin for two of us,” Illyana pointed out.  
  
Kitty returned to the table across the room, walking more slowly, letting her skirt sway, since Illyana obviously wanted to watch her. And she like the way Illyana watched: approving and hungry. She felt Illyana’s stare even before she turned around and saw it.  
  
When Kitty put the napkin on the desk, Illyana stood up. “Let’s see what you’ve chosen for me,” she said.  
  
She untucked Kitty’s blouse from the skirt and unbuttoned it, revealing a purple lace bra. It was far from Kitty’s sexiest. The floral lace around the cups was semi-transparent, but the cups were big and there was enough lace to make it almost modest. Illyana’s eyebrows rose and Kitty hoped this was far enough from what she’d expected to be fun and suggest she should keep looking.  
  
Illyana put her hands on either side of Kitty’s rib cage and brushed thumbs across her breasts. “I haven’t seen this one in a while,” she said. “Either you’re hiding your nipples—from a conference call—or you don’t want me to focus here. Hmm, put your palms on the desk.”  
  
Kitty faced the desk and did as she was told, which made her lean forward. Illyana’s fingers caught the edge of her skirt at the outside of each thigh and drew the fabric up, fingertips caressing Kitty’s skin as they rose. As the line of the skirt rose, its progress sped up considerably, exposing Kitty’s ass all at once.  
  
A sharp laugh of surprise escaped Illyana and Kitty heard the hard thump of her tail smacking the floor.  
  
Kitty shivered and pressed her legs together. For Illyana to manifest her tail with that kind of force meant she was beyond turned on.  
  
Illyana’s hands grasped her hips hard, thumbs stretching the underpants’ thick waistline. “You hid these from me,” she growled.  
  
“I didn’t have a reason to show you until now,” Kitty managed to say without too much quiver in her voice.  
  
She’d gotten this particular pair of underpants as a pack of three in an emergency shopping trip in London two years ago. Having forgotten to pack her own underpants, and having minimal time before she had to be at a conference where she was presenting a paper, she’d ducked into a department store and grabbed the first threepack that looked cute.  
  
But they’d turned out to be amazing! All three pairs were floral: two with blue and gold flowers and the third—the one she wore now—had purple and pink flowers, but only to the waist, then a thick, gray waistband with sparkles and a unicorn’s head and the words, “stay magical.”  
  
Two heavy seams ran down the back of the panties, down the center of Kitty’s cheeks. Illyana traced them, then tucked fingers under the leg elastic, feeling the difference in fabric on either side of the seam.  
  
“What is this?”  
  
“Leak-proof fabric,” Kitty said. “For heavy periods and stuff.”  
  
Illyana held onto Kitty’s hip and laughed. Her tail flicked between Kitty’s ankles and she widened her legs.  
  
“You think you’ve found panties that will keep you safe—as if I can’t make you soak these?” Illyana asked as her tail flitted up the inside of Kitty’s legs. “Have you tested them?”  
  
“Only for my period, the way they were meant.”  
  
“Mmhm, when you wear them with a pad or liner, right?”  
  
“Yeah.” Breathless now, because Illyana’s tail was rubbing against her crotch, the tip flicking over her clit.  
  
“And the lining of the panties absorb liquid, if it spills beyond the pad, which is to say they hold onto it.” Illyana pulled her tail away and put her fingers on the crotch of the panties, pushing the fabric up, between Kitty’s lips. She slid it back and forth, murmuring with approval. “Yes, very slippery here, lets get all that wetness into this fabric. Does it have layers?”  
  
“Three,” Kitty choked out the word.  
  
“That should keep you wet all afternoon,” Illyana purred. “Too bad you have that conference call or I could make you come in these and wear that mess all day.”  
  
Kitty whimpered. Illyana rested her hand firmly between Kitty’s legs for a moment, putting her other hand strongly around the back of Kitty’s neck. Tiny muscles in Kitty’s spine relaxed and her knees almost buckled.  
  
“You chose well,” Illyana said. Her hands pressed harder for a second and then withdrew. She pulled the skirt down over Kitty’s panties. “Turn around.”  
  
Kitty did, leaning back on the desk for support. Illyana’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. She brushed Kitty’s cheeks with her thumbs and then started buttoning her shirt.  
  
When she finished the last button, she said, “You’d better tuck it in. If I get under your skirt again, you won’t make that call.”  
  
Illyana settled into her chair and picked up a sushki, snapping it in half and dunking half in the tea. She tapped it on the side of her mug to remove drips and held it out to Kitty, who bit into the moist half of the bread-cookie.  
  
“What’s wetter, the sushki or your panties?” Illyana asked with a smirk.  
  
“Well, half of the sushki is still dry,” Kitty pointed out.  
  
Illyana’s smirk widened to a grin. “Very good. You have five minutes to get to your office, are you read for your call?”  
  
“I will be.” Kitty bent forward and kissed Illyana’s cheek, whispering, “Thank you.”  
  
“Anytime, _moya devushka_. Have a good call.”  
  
By the time she’d walked into the hall, Kitty’s legs were reasonably steady. But Illyana was right, the lined panties had lost none of their wetness and she doubted they would over the next hour.  
  
And yet, the 2 p.m. conference call went extremely well. Kitty wondered if Illyana had managed another one of her psychologically-astute leaps that defied reason but worked like a charm. If so, the panties were part of the magic, so she didn’t change them after the call. She couldn’t tell if they stayed wet for a curiously long time or if she kept them wet, thinking about standing at the desk with Illyana’s tail between her legs.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "moya devushka" is Russian for "my girl."


	4. Russian Caravan Tea

Illyana had to go handle some things in Limbo and wasn’t back until the next afternoon. Kitty phased into her office at 1:30 to see if she was back and pour her a cup of tea if she was.  
  
Illyana sat slumped back in her desk chair, the back of her head on the backrest. No blood, no torn clothes, not even a lot of grime, only a bit on her hands. But she looked exhausted, her skin gray, eyes shut, breathing shallow.  
  
“Bad?” Kitty asked.  
  
Illyana sighed. “Complicated.”  
  
“Tea?”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Kitty poured the dark tea from the kettle on top into the cup, inhaling its malty, bright, smoky scent. She topped the cup with hot water, put it on the saucer with two of the little, round, hard cookies and one cube of sugar, and carried all of that over to the desk.  
  
Illyana put the sugar cube between her teeth and sipped the tea. She ended up crunching half the sugar and washing it down with more tea before resting her head on the chair again.  
  
“Headache?” Kitty asked.  
  
“Tired.”  
  
“Bed?”  
  
“Meeting.”  
  
“Want me to wake you up?” Kitty offered. She hated seeing Illyana like this and she couldn’t always do something about it, but maybe today she could.  
  
“You can try,” Illyana said.  
  
Kitty rotated the chair away from the desk and knelt between Illyana’s knees. That at least got her a tired smirk. She knew this kind of tired, she’d seen Illyana in this state often enough. Not a physical exhaustion, though that accompanied it, but a soul-drained state from having to deal with things humans shouldn’t have to.  
  
In this state, Illyana could forget the things that brought her back to herself. Sometimes she slept until she remembered. And sometimes, Kitty remembered for her.  
  
Kitty unbuckled the thick, brown leather belt and the button at the top of Illyana’s pants. It was a formality, of course, but she pulled the zipper down anyway. Then she phased Illyana’s pants and underpants off, folded them and set them on the floor.  
  
She tugged Illyana’s hips forward to the edge of the chair and nuzzled into the space between Illyana’s legs. That got her a mumble of appreciation and Illyana’s hips tipped up, offering her more access. She slid her arms under Illyana’s thighs, hands on her hips to hold her close and help brace her in the chair, and put her tongue on Illyana’s lower lips.  
  
She licked around until she felt lIya’s clit thickening, stiffening. When they’d first been together as teens, Kitty hadn’t realized that Illyana’s clit was on the bigger size for human averages, only that it was bigger than hers and she’d been a little jealous. Hers was the usual tiny pencil eraser hidden in the folds of her labia. Illyana’s had been the size of the first joint of Kitty’s little finger: easy to find and fun to play with.  
  
When they got back together in their late thirties, Illyana’s clit seemed a little bigger than it had been—with a piercing through the hood. When Ilya got turned on, her clit grew to the size of the first joint of her thumb. When Kitty asked, Illyana had said, “Mods.” Kitty had raised her eyebrows, getting Illyana to add, “We’ll both appreciate them, trust me.”  
  
Fun features of a larger than average clit included the way it fit in Kitty’s mouth and how she could move her tongue around all its sufaces easily—as she did now. Plus once Ilya was super turned on, and it got hard enough to stand out from her body, it rubbed against her panties and pants in a way that made her very fun to tease.  
  
With Kitty’s lips around Illyana’s swelling clit, her breathing had gone from shallow to long and deep, as if she inhaled the pleasure Kitty kissed and willed into her—as if she drew life back into her cells. She probably was doing exactly that. Kitty didn’t know about all the kinds of demons she dealt with, but they definitely included ones that could drain the will to live, ones that could turn a person against themself and burn with self-hate, ones that could make the whole world appear to be a seething mass of destruction and waste.  
  
Kitty slipped one hand to the edge of the chair seat and crept in until her fingers met the wetness of Illyana’s lips. It wasn’t time to go any further, but she wanted to collect the evidence of life-affirming need. Illyana closed one hand gently over Kitty’s shoulder, tugging. Kitty took her lips to the base of Ilya’s clit, pressing into her to play on the nerves deep inside her.  
  
The slow, deep breathing turned to panting and Kitty pulled back to admire the situation: Illyana’s eyes open now, still drowsy but also burning bright; her legs as wide as the chair allowed; her clit straining up and glistening with Kitty’s saliva; her labia swollen and deep pink, and framed by the sides of her shirt, blue like her eyes.  
  
The piercing through Ilya’s clit hood, a thick band of silver, glowed blue-white.  Kitty watched—delighted as she was every time she got to see how well Ilya had integrated the Shi’ar sex toy tech Kitty had bought her—as the glowing silver metal poured itself over Ilya’s clit; not unlike the way her eldritch armor manifested, or her soulsword. Her silvered clit grew longer and thicker as Kitty put her mouth back over it.  
  
It was not—and she would never say this aloud to Illyana—like being with Peter in his organic metal form. Peter’s metal was warm, but as an exact replacement for his skin, it retained a kind of roughness, like his dry human skin.  
  
Illyana’s silvery metal was more magic than metal: softer than silk and with its own slippery wetness that seemed as much energy as liquid. Not for the first time, Kitty thought that she might have a little of Illyana’s soul in her mouth and the idea made her shiver.  
  
Although Kitty had never put palladium in her mouth, she imagined this is what Illyana tasted like—along with burnt sugar and winter, sunlight and the soft smoke of the Russian Caravan Tea she drank. That tea got its name from being taken from China and India to Russia by caravan in centuries past, and allegedly got its smoky flavor from the caravan campfires. Did Illyana get hers from the tea she drank or from the many kinds of infernal smoke she had to wade through on a regular basis? Kitty really hoped for the former.  
  
“Katya,” Illyana breathed. “Wait.”  
  
Kitty sat back on her heels, peeking up at Illyana’s face and back down at the two inches of smooth metal extending from her.  
  
“When is your next meeting?” Illyana asked.  
  
“Two.”  
  
“Cutting it close.” Illyana grinned, her face at last more amused than weary. She bent forward and down to kiss Kitty and then lick her lips, before saying, “You’d better go wash your face and put fresh lipstick on.”  
  
“I can be late,” Kitty said.  
  
“Yes, but if you keep going, you’ll make me come and I’ll want a nap and I have a meeting at three, so we’re going to have to save that for tonight.”  
  
Kitty pushed up from her knees and smoothed the wrinkles out of her pants. “Promise?”  
  
“You can decide tonight if you want to pick up where we left off or have me wake you up tomorrow morning,” Illyana told her, fully grinning.  
  
She stood and collected her underpants and pants, stepping into them. Before she could zip her zipper, Kitty slid a fully materialized hand over the front of Illyana’s underwear, rubbing the hard nub with her palm. Illyana groaned and caught Kitty’s shoulder for balance.  
  
“Do you have to go to your three o’clock?” Kitty whispered. “Because you could really use a nap.”  
  
Illyana nipped at Kitty’s earlobe and whispered, “Then maybe you should freshen up my tea before you go.”


End file.
